Moonstruck
by Lady Shagging Godiva
Summary: Peter makes more than one beta.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Teen Wolf.

**Summary:** Peter makes more than one beta. Season One.

**Notes:** I'm reposting this! I really disliked Season Four so I deleted the story in a fit of annoyance.

Semi-AU. Most changes will be because of my OC, others will be because of preference. Hint: like not getting rid of or killing most of the cast, and definitely foregoing the Teen Wolf: Next Generation vibe of Season 4. And completely rearranging Season 3. And giving Derek and Lydia smart things to do, and having Scott act like a real werewolf. Stuff like that.

**Warnings:** cuss words, at least one in every chapter. Sexual scenes and suggestions ahead, probably.

**Pairing suggestions are welcome.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: Wrong Place, Wrong Time<strong>

_Tessa Patterson. In the video store. With a light bulb._

The surrealism hits her…somewhere, behind the abject terror she's vaguely mapping out the poor decisions that led her to this degenerate video store, standing in the horror section next to the Captain of Pretentious-Field-Hockey who three minutes ago let the front door slam into her side.

Why did she leave her house so close to the mandatory curfew? (A curfew she had scoffed at.) Why did she follow Jackson Whittemore into the stacks, eyes set on the prone legs peeking into the aisle? Why didn't she run the second she felt the hair rise on the back of her neck?

Then she wouldn't have seen…that. The torn and mutilated throat, the blood as black as ink, and the unseeing eyes.

"Wha-?" She choked out.

Jackson's hand pulled her backwards as he scrambled away, tipping the ladder with a resounding _bang_ that caused the lights to spark and cut off.

The electric hum stopped. And then it was silent, a complete absence of noise before a low bestial growling filled the air.

Jackson let go of her arm. She cursed.

In the shadows she could see glowing red eyes steadily moving closer. Watched the outline of a black, hulking beast deepen. Felt the thundering paws pad across the carpeting as it stalked forward. The growling vibrated through the air, passing through her frozen form.

Denial lasted a split second. She was seeing a monster.

With bears you can only play dead and hope to be left alone. Hope to endure it. Hope help would come.

_This wasn't a bear._

When her limbs unfroze she fell sideways, her sweaty hands finding purchase around the long light bulbs in desperation. She hoped, with ruthless self-preservation that the creature would follow the moving target Jackson presented as he ran away. It would be karma for leaving her.

And that's when the stacks started falling.

She crawled, elbows and feet into the aisle as the fallen wood echoed behind her. Then, the thought that she'd be safer crawling into the shelf space had her cursing her instincts.

The beast was intelligent, _toying _with them.

She couldn't hear Jackson anymore, only the shaky breaths that expelled from her tightened chest.

_Please say he has his cell phone. Please say the police are coming. Please let me survive this. Please, please, please._

She slammed her eyes shut, huddled against the worn carpeting when she felt its approach.

She could feel its oppressive gaze when she looked up, followed the dark fur from flank to muzzle. She couldn't control her fear, or her heart, or her breaths, her only card left was the light bulbs. She held them up as a weapon and a shield. If it tried to bite her, if she was lucky, she could shatter the fluorescents into its eyes. She could _maim_ it.

Maybe when they found her body they would say, _she fought back._

But it didn't attack. Its chest expanded as it inhaled deeply, blood red eyes locked on her. The suspense made her shake.

Then it tilted its head before charging away, its body shattering the storefront glass.

Someone started screaming. She was only surprised it wasn't her.

* * *

><p>"It was a mountain lion," were the first words Jackson said to her, his lips a thin white line and his eyes overly bright.<p>

She was still lying there, now on her back, broken light bulbs in her stinging hands while Lydia Martin screamed Jackson's name from the parking lot.

The hand holding his cell phone was shaking and his fingertips were coated with blood. She didn't ask why.

"It was a mountain lion," he reiterated firmly.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" She murmured lowly.

His whole face shuddered.

Lydia had no problem repeating Jackson's lie. Over, and over, and over again.

* * *

><p>By the time flashing blue and red lights arrived Jackson started pacing and Lydia became catatonic.<p>

She was annoyed with both of their dramatics. Jackson, for pulling her closer to the body. Lydia, for having the nerve of being traumatized when she had been safely locked in her car.

"Excuse me," she interrupted the policewoman, standing up in a stretch after the EMT finished wrapping her palms. Thankfully they didn't need stitches. "Not to be a…" she looked to Jackson and then to Lydia and shook her head "but when can I go home?"

"As soon as the Sheriff arrives and we can spare someone to escort you," she smiled sympathetically.

She nodded, her body taxed after a round of questioning and evasive answers. At first, she wondered if the police force was in on this monster conspiracy until they proved they were just as ignorant as everyone else. Well, everyone but Jackson, her, and the two victims. And judging by her state, Lydia Martin.

"My head is fine!" Jackson shouted further away as he batted away the EMT's hands.

She snorted at his tantrum. "More flies with honey," she sang under her breath.

God was there a time when she actually had a crush on him? Nope, nope, never.

She watched the commotion passively, only turning away when the body was wheeled out. Then, she choose to go back to sitting. How long had she been out here? Thirty minutes since the police arrived? An hour total?

"Ms. Patterson," someone addressed her. She looked up from her knees, blinking slowly at the man standing near her. Judging by the badge he was the Sheriff.

She stared at him. He waited for acknowledgement.

"Did they give you pain meds?" He questioned skeptically.

"Aspirin," she shrugged "I'm lucid, just…tired."

"I understand," he nodded, his lips quirking into an easy smile. "If you don't mind I'd like to review your statement before we send you home."

She shrugged. "Shoot."

He half smiled.

"Metaphorically," she added.

"Noted," he responded dryly.

Five minutes later she was finally being released.

_("And what did the animal look like to you?"_

"_Big," she answered bluntly._

"_Anything else?"_

"_It was really dark. I didn't get a good look.")_

"If I take her home can we all go now?" Jackson barged in sourly.

The Sheriff shot her a questioning look.

"I can drive," she answered slowly, puzzled at the offer. There might have been a time when Jackson gave her the time of day, but she doubted there were any similarities between that boy and this one.

"Yeah," Jackson drawled sarcastically, sparing a condescending look to her hands. "I'm _sure_ you can."

Asshole. "I'm doing better than Carrie over there," she shot back.

His jaw clenched.

"If it's alright with her, I'll be taking Ms. Patterson home," the Sheriff interrupted the standoff.

"Fine," Jackson spat before he stalked off. She watched his taut shoulders as he approached Lydia. She was still staring blankly ahead, shock blanket still around her shoulders.

"You don't have to take me home," she aimed at the Sheriff.

"I'd feel better if I did," he briefly squeezed her shoulder. "Though I'm afraid you'll have to wait with my son for a bit."

"How afraid?" She raised her brows without feeling.

His lips twitched before he led her towards one of the patrol cars with 'Sheriff' written along the sides. The boy in the passenger seat quickly looked away when she spotted him before turning back seconds later.

The Sheriff made an 'open the door' gesture to the jittery boy. He blinked owlishly, pointing to himself questionably.

The Sheriff sighed theatrically. She withheld a smile.

Instead of opening the door he rolled down the window, shooting her a brief, curious look before focusing on his dad.

"I explicitly remember you saying, 'Stiles," he deadpanned exaggeratedly "if you step one foot out of that car again, I'll glue you to the seat."

"Well now I need you in the back," Mr. Stilinski raised his brow at him.

His eyes widened. "Like a criminal?" he gaped with fake aghast.

"Like a _gentlemen,"_ the Sheriff stressed "so Tessa can sit in the front."

"I-"Stiles looked back to her, eyes burning with curiosity before he shook himself and exited the vehicle. "Yeah, of course, sure."

"Tessa, this is my son, Stiles," the Sheriff introduced.

"Yeah I know," she nodded.

"You-you do?" Stiles blinked quickly, hands suspended on the open door between them.

"Yeah…" she watched his reaction with some confusion. Did he not know they were in the same grade?

"I won't be much longer," the Sheriff patted her shoulder again before heading back towards the store.

They just…stood there staring at each other in the poor light. She didn't know Stiles Stilinski very well so she didn't know what to say.

"Are you okay?" He cleared his throat.

"What?" She furrowed her brows at him.

"Your hands," he waved towards them before going back to gripping the edges of the door.

"Yeah," she answered softly, trying not to think about it "just a few cuts," she shrugged "it's to stop the Neosporin from rubbing off, or something," she flexed her fingers a little before dropping them back to her sides.

"So…" he started slowly, an uncomfortable look on his face "what happened?"

She gave him a blank look.

"To your hands," he clarified quickly.

"Kung-fu grip," she replied blandly.

The corner of his lip curled a moment, an unconscious sign of amusement he shared with his father. "What?"

She twisted her lips. "Light bulbs shattered," she explained, feeling the phantom shape in her palms as she stretched her fingers again. He looked confused. "I, umm, I couldn't really throw the movies, and you know, no records on hand so I grabbed the…light bulbs," she cringed.

He snorted and then opened his eyes wide when she looked up at him again.

Did he think she'd be offended that he laughed at her self-deprecating joke?

Her lips twitched until she was smiling, just a little. "It's fine."

He smiled back with relief, his fingers drumming absently on the door. "Good," he cleared his throat. "Good, good."

"Yeah," she answered lamely. She tried to think of something to say, or waited for him to say something when they descended into silence again.

He inhaled noticeably, his face going serious. "So…about the…creature," he began.

_Creature._

"What?" She interrupted, unconsciously stepping closer.

"I-what?" He repeated in bewilderment, shoulders arching away from her.

"You said creature. Not animal. Creature." She narrowed her eyes intently.

He stilled. "Is-is there a difference?" He swallowed.

"Is there?" She challenged.

He bit the corner of his lip. "What did you see?" He asked eventually, voice lower.

"A mountain lion," she smiled sardonically.

They stared at each other.

"Any reason you two aren't in the car?" The Sheriff interrupted.

"Nope," the both answered, breaking eye contact and moving away from each other. Stiles stepped out of the way, chewing on his bottom lip as he held the door open for her.

"Unless you don't think it's a mountain lion," she whispered before climbing in. He didn't say anything, just shut her door before climbing into the back.

"So where do you live?" The Sheriff asked. She looked away from the rearview mirror to put on her seatbelt.

"On-"she paused, thinking about her currently empty house "wait, you're not coming in with me right?"

He looked vaguely amused. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," she smiled brightly, not missing a beat.

"She's lying," Stiles piped up from the back, leaning forward quickly "she's in my year."

"I was held back," she answered quickly.

"Yeah, when?" Stiles challenged, his voice lightly mocking.

"You don't know my life," she argued.

"It won't be necessary," the Sheriff informed her, completely ignoring the interplay "but I'll have to call your parents tomorrow."

"Sure," she shrugged agreeably, finally resting back in her seat as she gave her address.

"And in the future," he added "I wouldn't recommend lying to a police officer."

She ducked her head apologetically. "Noted," she mumbled quietly. He nodded. Stiles huffed.

The silence was amiable while she looked out the window, absently toying with her bandages.

"You think I can have a note to miss school tomorrow?" She wondered.

"Oh?" The Sheriff briefly shot her a look before turning back to the road. "I thought you were fine."

Freaked-Out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional. Yeah, fine was the perfect word for it.

"Didn't the EMT say I needed lots of rest? Like…maybe a week's worth?" she cajoled.

"Is this because of the parent teacher conference tomorrow?"

"The what?" She furrowed her brows in confusion. "Oh! Yeah my mom's not going to that."

"And your father?"

"Other side of the country," She waved off. "They think parent teacher conferences are a waste of time. The whole PTA, school spirit, school projects…stuff," she elaborated with another wave.

"Maybe you should-"Stiles voiced towards his father, his voice filled with sudden energy.

"Nice try," the Sheriff cut him off dryly.

She smirked back at Stiles when he slumped away from the grating.

"If you don't want to go to school tomorrow, you don't have to," the Sheriff informed her quietly, just as the car was pulling onto her street.

She pursed her lips as she considered it. "That's my house," she pointed towards the white brick and the empty driveway. "I-crap!" She exclaimed suddenly. "How am I going to get my Mom's car?"

Why didn't she drive herself home and avoid the hassle of finding someone to drive her back to the parking lot?

Stiles shifted in the back. "I, uh, I can pick you up," he offered. She quickly made eye contact in the mirror "tomorrow," he added "take you to your car."

"You're sure?" She bit her lip.

"Yeah," he nodded decisively. "No problem."

She looked to the Sheriff who was watching the exchange before turning in her seat to nod at Stiles. "Thanks," she said through the grating before fumbling to open her door.

"Hey, can you open the door for me?" He requested quickly.

"Uh, yeah," she moved automatically, the passenger door still wide open.

"Don't feel obligated," she heard the Sheriff's wry voice.

"Thanks," Stiles smiled nervously, stretching a little as he closed the backdoor behind him. "So, what time…" he murmured.

"8:30?" She squinted up at him, pushing the hair off her face with the back of her hand.

"Yeah, see you then," he nodded, running a hand across his buzz cut.

"Thank you for the ride Sheriff," she bent down in the doorway to wave goodbye.

"Have a goodnight," he called kindly.

She nodded absently, straightening back up to Stiles.

"Unless you'd like more time for the interrogation?" She murmured, eyebrows raised knowingly.

He sputtered a little. "That's not why I asked," he insisted with wide brown eyes.

"Sure," she rolled her eyes, already walking away from him.

"But since you…" he called after her.

"See you tomorrow Stiles," she waved over her shoulder.

* * *

><p>Because the house was empty she slept in her Mom's room, the bathroom, closet, overhead, and both lamps turned on.<p>

But she still woke up in the middle of the night gasping for air. The sheets were thrown off and her side was _burning,_ slick with more than just sweat.

With shaking hands she discovered a large, bloody bite mark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Bad Blood**

Her laugh is a hollow, gritty sound when she feels the vibration at the base of her skull. She lolls her head to the side, though she knows what the clock will read.

8:30. Almost two minutes after she heard his footsteps on the porch, and ten minutes since his car pulled up.

With stifled movements she climbs to her feet, a death grip on the doorknob for support as her body threatens to cramp. She spies her figure in the hallway mirror - her ponytail low and haphazard, the foundation doing a poor job to hide her waxy complexion and the circles under her eyes. She looks tired. She_ feels_ tired.

Her lethargy comes with a nice side effect of apathy as she turns away.

Predictably, Stiles Stilinski is on the other side. She squints quickly, the sunlight making her sensitive eyes water. He shuffles, just a little to the left, by accident or design, and blessedly shades her from the morning sun.

She never really looked at Stiles Stilinski before, other than the poor circumstance last night when she could hardly make out his features. He's even paler than her, his face smooth without a hint of fading tan or scruff. There's a scattering of small moles on his cheeks and the visible parts of his neck. He's at least three or four inches taller, his body lean but his shoulders surprisingly rounded. She remembers the familiar brown hair from school, shorn so closely it looks as spiky as a paper cut. And wild eyebrows arched over surprisingly light brown eyes.

He fumbles with his phone, his hand hovering over his jean pocket before he tightens his grip and decides to hold it at his thigh. She doesn't think much of it, other than to consider he used it to time his knock perfectly and might just be one of those teenagers who can't function without their phones.

He attempts a smile before it falls, his eyes making the same perusal of her slumped posture and waxy complexion before quickly averting his eyes. Maybe there's still a little vanity behind her exhaustion because she feels embarrassed.

"You could have come to the door when you first arrived," she gives him a dry roll of her eyes, her voice unintentionally low as she yawns.

He flushes guilty before his eyebrows hunch and he sends her a quizzical look. "Wait, you were waiting at the door for me to knock?"

Her mouth opens but she blanks, no retort springing from her lips. Timing his knock is nothing compared to taking vigil at the front door because your home had been violated. She fights a grimace, grabbing her backpack and stepping out onto the porch.

"So does your Mom not need her car, or…" he trails off questionably, rocking back on his heels as she turns to close the door.

"Nah," she shakes her head, yawning again as she locks up carefully. "She's in LA, left yesterday."

"You-"she turns around when she hears him sputter a little, his pale lips dropped open and amber brown eyes wide. "You were here _alone_ last night?"

"Hence my play for being eighteen," she darts her eyes away from him, brushing some stray hairs out of her face. The motion inadvertently distracts him.

"Hey, you removed your bandages," he furrows his brows, head tilted down to see her hands.

Quickly, she pulls at her sleeves until they cover her miraculously uninjured palms.

"Liquid Band-Aid, less hassle," she explains with a tight smile.

He makes a light noise in his throat "huh," while rubbing his hand along the back of his neck.

She gets to the passenger side first, her arm stretching out to open the door when the motion makes her side pull. She flinches, a choked cry escaping her throat as she images the wound opening up, sticky blood starting to drench her right side.

"Whoa," Stiles slides up to her quickly, his hands hovering, one a centimeter from her back and the other hesitantly cupping her elbow. "What happened? Are you okay?" He asks rapidly.

"Fine, fine," she breathes slowly while it passes, her muscles unclenching as she lets out a long sigh. Her eyes hesitate to make contact with his face, seeing the concern and scrutiny as he slowly releases her.

"What happened?" He asks seriously, searching her expression and darting his eyes to her side. "Your side was fine last night."

"I had a nightmare," she tightens her jaw, a living nightmare, but a nightmare all the same. "I fell off the bed."

"Oh," he backs up a little, biting the corner of his lip before letting out a sigh.

She carefully hops in, cautious to avoid stretching her side as she closes the creaky door behind her. As far as she can tell without lifting her shirt her side isn't bleeding again.

It was definitely an older model, with wind up windows and utilitarian design, though the radio looked a little new. She watches Stiles walk around the front of the car as she drops her backpack in the clear floorboards. It was fairly clean for a boy's car – or a teenager's car, and smelled a little like loose dirty and curly fires.

He looks to be having the same trouble finding conversation as he sends her side longed looks while starting the engine.

"So…" she looks over expectantly, glad he was breaching the quiet "what movie were you going to rent?"

He cringes the second he says it, eyes widening in horror. "Oh god, I shouldn't have asked that, forget it," he shakes his head quickly.

Her lips tighten painfully as she turns her head away. She can't - she can't believe he just said that.

"Are you- are you crying?!" He asks in a panicky yell, head whipping back and forth from her to the road.

"Watch the road," she tried to scold him, her chest spasming as she snorts.

A disbelieving smile worked its way across his lips as he shakes his head, head determinedly facing forward with mocking focus. "I can't believe – you're _laughing._ I thought I triggered an episode or something and you're laughing!"

"I'm sorry," she whines "but who asks something like that?"

"Who laughs?!" He yells right back.

Their eyes meet again and they both just…relax, the tension of being unfamiliar with each other dispersing.

"Jackson was looking for the Notebook," she told him lazily, snorting again as she remembers it.

"Really?" He makes a face before it gradually falls. "It was probably for Lydia," he murmurs.

Her eyebrows shoot up a little at the tone, but she figures it out quickly. Having a crush on Lydia Martin didn't make him special.

"Nah," she says absently, turning forward "it was totally for him. He looks like the type to both love and envy Ryan Gosling."

He laughs softly, a brief smile on his lips when she looks over.

"You have pretty good self-restraint," she focuses on the twisting fingers in her lap, trying to sound casual as her heart starts to pound "not asking me about last night."

"I don't really know how to…" he pauses, thumbs drumming against the wheel as his shoulders bunch up.

"Have you seen it?" She whispers, her lips barely moving.

"No."

Her chest loosens even as she breathes in disappointment.

"But you know about it," she states.

"Yeah," he breaths heavily, looking weighed down and reflective.

"You dad doesn't know," she muses, thinking about the questions from last night. The Sheriff might not buy into the mountain lion theory, but he didn't hint at monsters either. "But _someone_ told you about it, someone who saw it," she turned to judge his expression, seeing if she was right "and you believed them?"

No denial.

"Was it Scott?" She asks. "He's your best friend right?"

"How-"he shakes his head "how do you even know that?" He breaths.

She feels offended, her mind going back to his similar reaction when she told his dad she already knew him.

"What, just because we're not friends I can't know anything about you?" She shoots him a flat look. "It's not like I'm making observations in my notebook," she continues sardonically. "I just noticed."

"Sorry," he swallows contritely.

"I'm not stalking you," she finishes empathetically.

"No," he let out a frustrated breath "_I'm not saying that_, I'm just surprised you noticed me at all," his told her honestly, a flush spreading across his cheeks as he tightens his knuckles on the wheel.

Her scowl vanishes, feeling a little guilty for jumping down his throat, and uncomfortable with his confession.

"Want to listen to some music?" He asks quickly, hand already on the dials as noise bursts out of the radio.

"Subtle," she sighs, batting his hands away to settle on something other than annoying static. He quickly moves his hand away as she chooses a classic rock station.

"I guess I'm used to being kind of…" he hesitates, a long exhale releasing from his chest. "This is so not going the way I thought it would."

"Avoiding my questions?" She smiles ruefully. "That's exactly how I thought it would go."

He groans. "I'm not trying to, I just - there are some things I _can't," _he stresses.

"Yeah," she looks out her side window, feeling the heaviness of her eyes and remembering her sleepless night "I know how that goes."

It's a strange impasse as CCR plays in the background, Stiles couldn't give more information and she wouldn't.

"We're almost there," he says quietly as they pulled up on the correct street. Her fingers clench around the leather seat, nails lined up to the stitches as if she was going to rip them out.

"So, uh, guess you gave up on that week off?" He voices awkwardly.

"Yeah," she agrees wryly. She wouldn't find rest at home right now, not with – not with last night. "The longer I'm out the more they'll stare right?"

"Maybe no one will know," he tries to reassure her. She knew he didn't believe it.

"There were what - twenty people crowding around the crime scene?" She crosses her arms under her chest, uncomfortable just thinking about it.

"Has anyone called you?" He queries "Your friends?"

"Left my cell phone in the car."

"Accident?" He raises an eyebrow at her.

She gave a queasy smile, unable to joke any longer.

They pull into the parking lot and her breath catches. It was like her head spun for a moment, her side _throbbed, _as she stared at the plywood covering the windows.

Stiles grimaces as he pulls up next to her Mom's white Honda. She didn't get out right away, slowly working on her breathing and unclenching her fingers from the seat.

When she finally relaxes she notices he was watching her quietly.

"Thanks for the ride," she grabs her backpack and hops out. The door creaks again when she shuts it. She pushes through the pain.

If he says anything it's lost as she hurries to drive away.

* * *

><p>In hindsight, school was a bad idea. She should have taken the car and driven somewhere far, far away from stares and whispers and sugary sweet sympathy.<p>

She didn't expect Jackson and Lydia to not show, or have people ask her where they were (as if she would know) while leading into questions about last night.

Her friends, both 'school friends' and 'friends, friends' actually have the nerve to scold her for not answering her phone and then feel entitled to have _their_ questions answered.

Any minute now she would just pass out from exhaustion. Any minute she was going to scream.

Before fourth period Jackson descends on her, grabbing her arm in an eerie imitation of last night as he tries to haul her away. Last time that happened she found a dead body.

"Whoa," she wiggles her limb irritably, pulling all of her weight away from him like a misbehaving child "when'd _you_ get here?"

He didn't answer, glaring at any passerby as he pulled her, her sneakers sliding against the bright linoleum as he finds an alcove to herd her into.

Her insults die on her tongue when she sees his face. He was breathing shakily, hair still wet from a recent shower, skin pale and green eyes a bit glazed. He looks as bad as she feels, though still attractive (jackass) and some part of her both empathizes and feels validated.

She never knew he had freckles.

"Has Derek talked to you?" He asks stiffly.

She blinks, thrown by the question. "Who?"

His lips tighten as he scans the area, head ducking intimately close to whisper, "_Scott's dealer."_

"His _what?"_ She backs up quickly. The mention of Scott and his association to Stiles would have captured her interest on its own, but Jackson's paranoia is a little unsettling.

He gives her a frustrated look that literally (in the non-literal form of the word) oozes condescension. "Do you know anything?"

She sneers at him, bonding moment quickly soured. "Huh?" She deadpans, purposely agitating him.

"Forget it," he seethes.

She shakes her head slowly as he storms off, wondering who Derek was and where he fit in this land of craziness.

* * *

><p>At lunch she grabs a water from the vending machines and plops down across from Stiles. Usually she eats outside, but right now she was feeling a bit delirious, enjoying a second wind of energy and ready for some investigative work.<p>

His head was down, eyes glued to his phone as he texted with a frustrated look on his face.

"Are we ever going to reach a point in our relationship where I give you my theories and you answer evasively?" She smiles when he flailes a little.

"Wha-" he breathes, looking around the cafeteria before settling on her with bewildered brown eyes.

"You know, like in Twilight," she fiddles with her water bottle.

He smiles, shaking his head a little as his eyebrows rise. "You saw Twilight? Or you read Twilight?"

"Uh," her eyes widen, trapped and unable to deny it as she grimaces. "Can we strike that from the record?"

"Stricken," he makes a theatric striking motion in the air. She snorts.

"Okay, I'll start easy." She leans forward teasingly, a smile of amusement still on her face. "What's with the compulsive need to check your phone?" She gives it a deliberate look.

The humor fades from his face, his shoulders dropping. "I'm texting Scott, he's decided to skip today without telling me," he gives his phone a moody look before narrowing his eyes and turning off the screen.

_Well, since he mentioned it..._

"Does he do drugs?" She bites her lip when he shoot her an incredulous look.

_"What?" _He sputters.

"Jackson said Scott has a dealer," she elaborates with a light cough.

He rolls his eyes. "He doesn't. Jackson is insane."

She half-smiles, crossing her arms against the table as she pulls her chair a little closer. "I'm not arguing that."

His face suddenly becomes serious. "You haven't met Derek though right?"

_Now why would he say something like that?_

"You're the second person to ask me that," she remarks slowly, eyes narrowing.

"Believe me," he shakes his head "you don't…"

She blinks when the cafeteria noise rose, flooding the area with feet squeaking against the linoleum, crinkling of hard plastic, buzzing whispers, swishing, crunching, laughing; a blaring crescendo as she tries to block out all of the sharp edges.

She breathes, focusing on the air going into her lungs, the steady beat of her heart as it passes.

"You okay?" She opens her eyes, staying still another moment as Stiles watches her.

"When are you going to stop asking me that?" She comments offhandedly, re-adopting her blasé attitude.

"When you don't look like that." He murmurs dryly.

She thought about Jackson, the tense look on his face like he was seconds from a nervous breakdown.

"Flatterer," she twists her lips wryly.

"I didn't mean…" he quickly tries to reassure her.

"It's fine. I know." She waves it off. She didn't want to think about herself in any capacity right now.

"So, uh, I was thinking about visiting Lydia. Apparently no one has heard from her."

"Okay," she shrugs, finally sipping at her water as she makes a pile from the torn label. She doesn't even remember peeling it.

He nibbles at his lip before releasing a gusty sigh. "Do you want to go with me?"

She looks up with a perplexed frown. "Why?"

He blinks at her, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. "To make sure she's alright," he splutters, throwing his hands up wildly.

"I don't care," she answers slowly.

"She seemed really shaken up last night," he frowns at her.

She looks away, just in time to see a few heads turn from her direction. The noise level was rising again and a headache was starting to throb behind her eyes.

"Maybe she wants to be alone," she says dismissively. "In fact," she starts to rise from the table "that's not a bad idea."

The hallway was empty when she left the cafeteria, hand absently rubbing her side, expecting a twinge that didn't come.

Suddenly she froze, feeling a presence behind her that made her heart speed up.

She whirls quickly on the balls of her feet, eyes wide as someone catches her biceps in their hands.

She blinks in surprise as he smiles a brilliantly white grin. "You alright?" He asks in a smooth, melodious timbre.

"Yeah," she blinks out of her light daze.

He slowly releases her arms, light eyes tracked on her as he breathes deeply, nostrils flaring. She didn't move, not until his smile dropped and his black eyebrows furrowed.

She couldn't describe his expression, but it wasn't one you directed at a stranger.

"I'm fine," she pulled away resolutely.

The bell rang and she quickly slammed her eyes shut in pain. When she opened them he was gone.

* * *

><p>She waited for Stiles by his Jeep. For the first time he noticed her without flailing, his eyes widening a little in surprise.<p>

He stopped a foot away from her, his hand gripping the strap of his backpack and his phone nowhere in sight.

"I'll go," she scowled at him, daring him to ask why so she could say forget it and leave.

A slow grin took over his face, his eyes warming to a rich caramel.

"Yeah," she pushed off his car, wisely choosing to drive herself and avoid any conversation about Lydia Martin. "I'll just follow behind you."

Lydia's house was, well exactly as she expected it to be. Large and filled with nice, expensive things that people didn't really need. She stayed silent as Stiles explained their presence to Lydia's Stepford looking mother.

"Honey," Lydia's Mom called out softly, quietly pushing open the door. "There's a Stiles and Tessa here to see you."

"What the hell is a Stiles?" Lydia asked in a slow drawl.

Tessa snorted. "So glad we came," she whispered sarcastically, just as Stiles' face fell in disappointment. She gave a casual look to the purple room, picturing a child Lydia wax on about purple's majestic symbolism.

"She took something to ease her nerves," Lydia's mother explained, her smile forced, "you can go in," she gestured, shooting a last smile at them before walking away.

Lydia turned over in bed in a short nightgown that showed a lot of leg and cleavage. She was thrown, by the pose and the outfit, her eyes going back to the hallway as if waiting for Lydia's Mom to throw a blanket over her or something. The hallway was empty.

"What are you doing here?" Lydia gave them both a lazy once over.

"We were worried about you," Stiles shot Tessa a look, as if telling her to behave. She made a face at the 'we' but rolled her eyes agreeably.

Lydia hummed, smacking her lips repeatedly as she became fixated on her hand.

"Why?" Lydia smiled dopily.

"Um," Stiles shifted on his feet uneasily.

"Because I'm in love with you," Tessa deadpanned. Stiles gritted his teeth at her. "No?" She raised her eyebrows at him "not me then," she told Lydia.

_"We_ were wondering how you were, if you were alright." Stiles quickly interjected.

"Oh she looks _fine_ to me," Tessa gritted out, finally spotting her target as she slid pass Stiles and grabbed the bottle by the bed.

"You want some too?" Lydia lolled her head back, her hair falling into a long curtain of curls. "It will make you better," she sighed dreamily.

"Wait, she's stoned?" Stiles quickly took the rattling bottle from her to read the label. It was half empty.

"Cottoned on did you?" She rolled her eyes at him, looking down at Lydia with a clenched jaw.

"Great," Stiles sighed, running his hand over his scalp in frustration.

"Fantastic," Lydia corrected happily.

"How many do you have to take to get to that?" Stiles gave Lydia a baffled look.

"You weren't there," Tessa whispered, eyes fixed on Lydia's blank expression. "You weren't even there," she gritted out aggressively. "When it was toying with us, when we found the dead body, when it _breathed _on us, you weren't even there."

"Hey," Stiles dropped the bottle, his hands raising as he slid closer to her. "Tessa-"

She didn't look at him, kept staring at Lydia who stopped twisting in bed and stilled, her green eyes still glazed, but with some awareness making her pay attention.

She wanted to _strangle_ her she was so angry.

"What the fuck do you have to be traumatized about? You?" She sneered, "safe in your car, screaming in the parking lot. You were too weak to _even step foot_-" her breathing picked up, heaving out of her chest as she took a threatening step forward. Stiles suddenly wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"Tessa. Tessa. Tessa!" He tried to grab her attention, pulling her struggling form backwards as he navigated behind her, his heatbeat echoing through her as he repeated her name in her ear. Lydia looked confused and frightened while Tessa started crying angry tears that burned her face as she kept saying, "you weren't even there. You weren't even there." Her voice became more wretched the more she repeated herself. Instead of fighting the bands holding her arms to her side, she slackens, drops all of her weight forward as Stiles holds her up.

It wasn't fair that Lydia got to be safe. That Lydia's mother was home with her. That no one invaded _her_ home. She wasn't going to drown in oblivion, so Lydia didn't get to either.

"Hey, hey," Stiles spoke soothingly, tightening the arms around her waist as she started to sob. She twisted out of his hold when it became too much, when her anger turned into humiliation. She wiped her eyes quickly and ineffectively as Stiles stared at her, arms outstretched and a lost look in his eyes.

She hiccupped, quickly swiping both bottles of pills before facing Lydia. "You don't get to do this," she declared defiantly, voice raspy. Lydia nodded woodenly as Tessa charged out of the room.

She's so set on her target she doesn't even realize what senses she's using to find her.

"You're a pathetic excuse for a mother," she stared at the woman coldly, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. Mrs. Martin's smile disappears as she watches the rattling bottles roll towards her on the marble floor.

"And before you tell me I don't understand, _I _was there." Then she left the Martin residence.

Outside she rests her forearms against the driver's side window, her hands steepled under her forehead.

She heard the front door open and shut, the sound of sneakers treading closer before they stopped behind her.

If there was a moment to bring her back it dried up in his silence. When she turned her smile was vicious.

"You think if it was reversed she would come see you?"

He swallowed, his whole body held still as he watched her.

"She doesn't even know your name," she whispered hatefully.

"Why?" He asked, his voice calm "Why wait out here to tell me that?"

"I-" the question unbalanced her as her stomach twisted.

Stiles shoved his hands into his pockets but didn't otherwise move.

She left without another word.

* * *

><p>There's a foreign heartbeat in her house, a smell of earth and leather that didn't belong.<p>

She has a second to process it, to realize her home is being _invaded again_ before the anger engulfs her.

She bares her teeth and attacks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Growing Pains**

It was like being possessed. One moment it was white-hot rage, and the next there was a pressing weight caging her body and bright blue eyes staring down at her.

His hands tightened, grinding the bones of her wrists while his legs pushed her into the floor. She wanted to bite, and scratch, and hundred other things she barely understood while she ineffectively tried to twist free. Eventually she slackened, hot breath heaving out of her chest as she assessed the strange animalistic face above her.

She watched the blue fade from his eyes, his nose, his brow, his whole face rearranging into something more human as she caught the yellow eyes reflected back at her.

Her yellow eyes.

"You shouldn't let yourself lose control like that," he warns her gravely, squeezing her wrists with intent before relieving his weight off of her.

She sits up quickly, her mind split between her reflection and the stranger as she scowls irritably, "you should try knocking," she spits.

"When were you bit?" he asks curtly. He shifts forward, leather clad arms crossing against his toned chest as he raises thick, black brows.

A trickle of unease curves her spine as she remains sitting. "Bit by what?" She asks eventually, avoiding eye contact.

She can hear her heart thump inside her chest, the ticking of the wall clock, and the shift of leather as he leans forward and then… "A werewolf."

Her mouth runs dry, ironically because for a second she feels close to tears. "You're crazy," she whispers breathlessly.

Werewolf. Werewolf. Werewolf. Somehow, on each repetition it sounds a little less insane and a little more plausible. What could explain an animal murdering people in such a calculated manner, standing on hind legs, stalking her in her home, Stiles secrecy? And the healed bite, the things she can smell and hear, and this, this anger and steel forging inside of her. Still, the hope is in her eyes as she waits for him to dispute his own word, to tell her something more rational and less life altering.

He doesn't. He only levels her with a look, not a reflexive smile to relax her, or shared sympathy, just flat, unemotional, and borderline impatient.

"What are you the supernatural police?" She throws out for distraction, eyes darting around the room, checking for claw marks or broken furniture. The moment between walking into the hallway and Derek pinning her is a complete blank.

"When," he lowers his voice, spacing his words out deliberately as if she's particularly slow "were you bit?"

"What are you doing here?" She asks instead, tensing her shoulders in false bravado. They stare at each other, her dark browns against his light green. Her glare is positively kittenish in comparison and she averts her eyes and drops her hostile posture.

"Last night, around four," she answers quietly.

His eyes stay narrowed but his lips tighten for a moment. "Show me."

She shots him a wary look. "Are you asking me to lift my shirt?"

His jaw clenches, the muscles of his biceps flexing as he releases a noisy sigh.

"Where in the house were you bit?" He pronounces deliberately.

"Oh," she pulls her lips in with mild embarrassment, already rolling to her feet with the help of the coffee table before she pauses. "No, wait," she shakes her head "why are you here?"

He raises his thick brows at her.

"Yeah, no, I'm not asking why you're interested, because I'm like 99% sure you're a," _don't say it, don't say it, _she swallows "werewolf, but why are you in my house?"

"I could smell your blood," he explains after a noticeable pause. "At the school."

"Oh," she nods slowly. She literally has no other response to that.

She turns away, ready to lead him to her Mom's room even though turning her back on him makes her tense.

"Don't take this the wrong way or anything," she throws him a weak smile "but is there a way to like, ward my house against your kind?"

"Your kind too," he mutters, eyebrows raising again. There's something a little wild about his handsome face, something that hints at his dual nature, or maybe she's seeing it only because she knows it's there.

"Oh, yeah, thanks for that," she smiles falsely, "but I mean, do I have to pee along the property?" She flushes a little but pushes through, even though he's definitely staring at her "or is that not very intimidating because I'm a girl?" She wonders, biting her lip as she gives him a quick perusal "could you do it?"

They're at the door to her Mom's room when she stops. He halts in front of her, mouth opening before he cuts his eyes to the open door and walks through, minutely shaking his head.

She's going to ignore what she just asked as she slides up next to him. His nostrils are flared as he concentrates, bending down to sniff the sheets pilled on the floor and the stripped bed. She watches him a moment before trying to imitate, because why not?

She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. Instantly she wants to sneeze, to block out the assault on her senses. There's Derek, musk, earth, and leather, then the smell of her dried sweat and blood. She immediately holds her breath, nauseated and overwhelmed as a headache starts to throb behind her eyes. A headache she had been fighting all day.

Derek spends a bit more time, periodically sniffing as he approaches the bed and the window before his shoulders loosen and he gives a frustrated sigh.

"No luck?" She asks. He doesn't answer.

"What are you searching for?" She tries again.

"The Alpha," he grumbles, still glaring out the window.

"Alpha?" she tests the word carefully, "like a leader?"

He kind of nods and shakes his head at the same time, "Head of a pack."

"Are _you _part of its pack?" She asks warily.

"No," he informs her resolutely. "You are."

She rears back on instinct, defensive, bewildered, and angry all at once. "Fuck that."

He turns his light eyes back to her, a shadow of a smile on his lips before it disappears in a blink. She takes a deep breath.

"So," she calms down a little, rocking back on her heels as she tentatively sniffs the air, gross "did you catch his scent?"

"No," he sighs in frustration again, she watches him expectantly. "Trail's cold."

She tries to nod sympathetically but she's so far out of her depth it's laughable.

"So you weren't bitten by this alpha?" She questions.

He frowns at her. She's not quite as intimidated anymore. He may not like using his big words, or elaborating much, but he _is_ answering.

"You said I was part of his pack, but you weren't," she narrows her eyes intently.

"I wasn't bitten," he monotones.

It takes an embarrassing long moment to realize what that means.

"You were born this way?" She asks incredulously. Is that why he was so…different? Magnetic almost. "Wow," she breathes "that's…so are you an alpha too?"

He hesitates, turning his eyes away as he debates answering. "No, I'm a beta," he answers at last.

Greek, huh.

"Where's your alpha?" She quirks her head at him.

"Gone," he replies flatly, his whole face tensing.

She bits her lip, palms raised at her hips before she drops them. She knows a landmine when she sees it. "And I shouldn't ask," she mumbles aloud.

He gives the room another once over. "Can we move this somewhere else?" He asks eventually, giving a deliberate look to the soiled sheets.

"Oh yeah," she swallows her embarrassment "guess it's easier when you know it's your own." She cringes at how awful that came out, choosing to silently lead him back to the living room. She's a lot less wary of him now, but she's almost afraid he'll take off, taking his answers with him.

"Is Scott McCall a werewolf?" she wonders aloud, sparing him a brief look over her shoulder as she chooses one end of the couch.

He rolls his eyes. "Did Stiles tell you that?"

She winces at the name. "No," she says in a subdued whisper "just a thought," she sighs. She bends forward to rest her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands as she slides her fingers through her hair. It might be her imagination but her hair feels soft and silky. Wasn't it tangled just this morning?

"So, is there a class I can take, you know werewolf 101?" She questions wryly, turning her cheek to rest in her palm as she spies him sitting in the brown recliner.

He watches her thoughtfully, "You want to learn?"

"Well, yeah." She gives him a droll look. "Do you train Scott?"

He smirks just a little, and the expression is surprisingly dangerous as his sharp canines wink at her. "He doesn't trust me."

She wants to say, _what does that matter,_ but bites her tongue.

"Why," she asks instead, going for dry humor "did you take him to your cave and demand he stay away from humans?"

"Den," he deadpans.

She blinks at him.

"Wolfs live in dens," he elaborates.

"Do _you_ live in a den?" She questions slowly.

He sighs. "No."

"Oh," he was telling a joke, with like the worst timing ever "See I'm learning already," she smiles quickly before squinting as another thought occurs to her. "You're not looking for a mate right?"

He actually does roll his eyes this time, like her question is _so_ ridiculous, "No," he responses flatly.

"Great," she nods. It's silent as she gathers the courage to ask her next question and he patiently waits her out. "How do you…" she fidgets "control it? I mean the emotions and the hyper senses?" She rubs at her forehead roughly "I've had this headache all day, and these mood swings, I- I was a complete bitch for no reason to someone who really didn't deserve it, to two people who didn't deserve it," she corrects quietly.

"I…" he hesitates, eyes going distant "I know what it's like to be out of control."

"That's it?" She shoots him a frustrated look. "I just…repress?"

He inhales slowly, "It's different for me than it is for you," he explains. "You'll have to learn."

"From you?" She asks hesitantly, wary he'll say no.

The phone rings. Out of habit she twists her head to view the one behind her and tenses up. It's her mom. She swears under her breath, shooting a look at Derek before tentatively wrapping her fingers around the phone.

"Hello," she greets timidly. There's a sigh on the other end that makes her feel small and guilty.

"So," her mom chimes in a falsely calm voice "I had an interesting call today."

"Yeah…" she cringes, "about that."

"Why didn't you call me?" She demands. "I would have been on the first flight back, I would have flown a damn plane myself if I had to."

"Which is why I didn't call you," she sends an embarrassed look at Derek, certain he can hear the entire conversation. He raises his eyebrows. She narrows her eyes before grabbing a magazine off the coffee table and tossing it in his lap.

He looks down at the Good Housekeeping before shooting her an unimpressed look.

"There's a flight at 7 a.m. tomorrow," her mom brings her back to focus.

"No," she interrupts. "Mom I'm _fine."_

"Tessa," she argues, her voice unable to hid her worry "I don't want you alone."

"I'll invite someone to spend the night. Mom, seriously it's no big deal."

"You were injured. You saw a dead body," she stresses.

She scoffs, "I had a tiny cut on my hand, which is already gone, and I barely saw…it," she lies.

That's all it is, lies, lies, lies, tumbling out of her mouth as easy as breathing. She can't have her mom here, not right now, not until she has a grasp on this thing.

"Tessa," her mom tries again.

"Mom I know this exhibit is important to you, you're staying," she intones firmly. "I'm fine."

Her mom is quiet for a moment, so she softens her voice "I'm trying not to think about it, and if you come home I- it'll be all I can think about."

She can hear her sigh.

"Just stay the week, I'll go spend the night at Rebecca's or something," she cajoles.

And that's pretty much it. For a few more minutes her mom makes a half-hearted effort to change her mind, she pretends everything is fine, and Derek watches it all silently, magazine still in his lap.

When she hangs up her shoulders drop.

"Well," she informs her guest "You have a week to teach me your ways."

"It takes longer than a week," he shakes his head at her.

"I'm really motivated," she smiles stubbornly.

He judges that comment silently before swiftly rising to his feet. "Let's go."

"What, now?" she scrambles to her feet. "Can't I sleep first?"

He frowns at her. "Do you want to learn?"

She pouts. That was quick to bite her in the ass.

"So," she drawls slowly, part genuine interest and wanting to stall the silence "you didn't answer, are you like a supernatural cop?"

He rolls his eyes, sending her a long-suffering look before opening her front door. "No."

"Okay," she chews on her lip. "So it's personal. Like… V for Vendetta personal?" She queries.

No answer.

"Does this have anything to do with your alpha?" She wonders.

He stops, shoulders tensing before he continues to stride down the street. "Isn't there a parent teacher conference tonight?" He throws over his shoulder.

"Not for me," she answers easily. He slows down his stride, moving into the street next to a black Camaro. "Is this your car?"

He unlocks the door. Answer enough.

"It's nice," she gives it a once over, noticing the fresh wax "very you," she compliments. Muscle, dark, pretty. She wonders why he parked it three houses away.

"There are things you need to know." He tells her when she hops in. It's different from Stiles Jeep, which she had to pull herself into. Derek's is a lot lower to the ground, with soft leather against her palms. It's either very new or very well taken care of, with the nice clothing he's wearing it could go either way.

"Like your name?" She tightens her fist in her seat belt, her voice still deceptively calm to hide her anxiety. "Because I've been assuming you're Derek, but now that I'm in a car with you I'm starting to realize how little I know about you," she smiles apprehensively.

"It is Derek," he tells her coolly.

"Great," she sighs slowly, keeping her eyes out the side window. "I'm Tessa."

In the reflection she can see his lips quirk. "I heard."

Right, phone call, super hearing.

"So uh, _Derek_," she empathizes deliberately "where are we going?"

"My house."

"Den," she corrects, mostly to hide her increased apprehension at going to this stranger - this werewolf's house.

His lips quirk just a little bit more before he frowns. "We're just driving by, it's not safe right now, but you need to see it," he tells her cryptically.

She doesn't say anything to those ominous words.

"Do you know Allison Argent?" He asks after a long silence.

"Uh," she shakes her head back. There were only about one hundred students in their class, so anyone new was going to be a commodity, especially coming in, in the middle of the year. _Especially_ when they're as pretty, well dressed, and rich as Allison Argent. "I know who she is, why?" She wonders.

"Did you know she's dating Scott?" He asks expectantly.

"No," she answers slowly, brow furrowed.

"She comes from a long line of hunters," he sent her a weighted look. "Werewolf hunters."

Her chest tightens. "All werewolves?" She asks weakly.

He shrugs, looking unbothered. "Some follow a code, to only hunt killers."

_Some. _"But not all," she states.

"No," his hands tighten, just for a moment on the steering wheel before relaxing. "Not all."

The air feels dark and confining. She can literally feel the stress weighing her down as her heart speeds up and she tries to control her breathing.

"Do you practice yoga?" He sends her a curious look.

"No..." she replies questionably, her breaths still shaky.

"You focus on your breathing when you're trying to calm yourself." He observes.

"Ballet," she answers shortly.

"Can you control your heart rate?"

"Sometimes," she answers with closed eyes.

"Good, it'll help you from phasing in public."

"Phasing?" Her eyes pop open in alarm. "_Like an actual wolf?"_

He shakes his head at her, and she wonders if for a moment he looks melancholic. "I'll show you," he tells her.

She releases a frustrated breath. "And the list keeps piling on."

God, what if she turned into that creature?

"Mountain ash," he voices out of nowhere. She looks over at him expectantly, five seconds away from saying, snorkel, Amsterdam, see I can say random things too. "It keeps werewolves out, only if you circle your house with it, it will keep you in too. Same with rowan wood."

"Oh," she takes the information in carefully, surprised and intrigued. "Well, I know they don't need to be invited in," she jokes, the smile quickly slipping off her face as another thought occurs to her. "Oh my god, are vampires real?"

"Extinct," he answers apathetically.

Her head spins. Werewolves actually exist, she realized it before, but now it's hitting her like a ton of bricks. Supernatural creatures are real. What was next, fairies, ghost, goblins, dwarves, elves, Vashta Nerada?

She was a werewolf.

"Oh my god," she can't breathe "I'm a werewolf. I'm a freaking _werewolf_," she freaks out.

The car swerves a little to the right and Derek's large hand is suddenly gripping the back of her neck.

She tries to twist away as he tightens his grip. "What the hell are you doing?" She struggles, back arching as she throws her head into the seat behind her.

The pressure is almost painful as he changes his grip, massaging her neck roughly as he finds a new hold. "Calm down," he instructs her, voice deep and controlled.

She stills without realizing it, back still arched as she slowly relaxes her body, breaths evening out.

His hand is still on her neck, thumb tracked on her pulse as he continues massaging the area. After a few long moments she twists away, uncomfortable.

He pulls his hand back, still silent as she digs her shut eyes into her palms.

She can feel the car pull onto a dirt road but doesn't look up.

She's a werewolf. What does that mean? Will she be like Derek, like the Alpha? Will she murder? Lust after blood? Will her Mom find out? Will Allison's family?

The car starts to slow and she looks up, notices how watchful Derek is as he scans the house and the woods.

The house…

It's beautiful, in the way some sad things are. The frame is still standing, showing how large it once was, but it's neglected, the wood falling apart, burnt, smoky. The windows are broken, the ground overgrown with dead vegetation. It looks abandoned.

"What happened?" She asks without thinking. She doesn't understand as she turns to Derek's silent profile. "This is your house?"

"It was," he answers shortly.

Oh. _Oh._

After the first victim was identified, her body cut in half, the news reiterated the story of the Hale House Fire.

"Derek Hale?" She questions quietly.

He nods, just once.

"It wasn't a normal fire was it?" She mumbles, almost hoping he wouldn't hear her.

He doesn't answer.

The woods around Beacon Hills are actually part of a national forest, one that Derek seemed to navigate with ease as they moved further away from the ruins. The more she watched and mimicked him the more she realized how much there was to learn. She was a novice, a child thrown into a new world. Her senses were on overload and her emotions were frayed by the time the intentional training started.

And she royally sucked at it.

When Derek told her to clear her mind, the smells, and sounds, and feel of the forest overwhelmed her.

When he told her to harness her anger she went berserk.

The frustration made her snide. Her body would shake and her vision would tunnel before she blacked out, before something vicious took her place. It was like being drunk on power, all instinct and no conscious; when reason prevailed she absolutely hated it. When she came to at the base of a tree she had to talk herself into getting back up.

School was the worst. The noise, every tread on the squeaking floor, every tick of the clock, chime from a cell phone, scratch of a pencil, nervous fidgeting, yawn, sneeze, cough, whisper, it was worse that the smell of cologne, and perfume, and musk. Even with headphones hidden in her ears she spent most of the day trying to block everything out. Joy of joys her metabolism was so high, Excedrin worked for all of ten minutes.

Apparently last Friday Allison Argent's dad killed a mountain lion in the parking lot, and everyone started to relax as 'the creature' was killed.

An innocent, and no doubt frightened animal was slain, and the Sheriff was injured.

Thoughts of the Sheriff led to thoughts of Stiles. Every time she thought about apologizing her heartbeat sped up. She literally couldn't approach him without feeling anxious, and she couldn't feel anxious without being in danger of phasing. Derek told her to concentrate, but in the meantime walk away from any situation that overwhelmed her.

So, when she saw Stiles in the hallway, and scruffy haired Scott McCall next to him she blitzed the other way. She was already frustrated with her limitations. She didn't want to fake control, she wanted to harness it.

She planned to tell Derek about it when he showed up at her house at 7 o'clock that night, but the words died in her throat when she saw the backseat.

"If this is a training exercise, I think I'll pass," she voices uneasily, eyes on the man's bleeding cheek and duck taped mouth. She suddenly hit with the realization that she knows very little about Derek.

"It's Scott's boss." Derek tells her evenly. "I think he's the alpha."

Her breath hitches as she throws the bald man a searching look. She expects to feel, something, some kind of guiding instinct but she doesn't.

"Are you sure?" She takes a small step back just in case.

He raises an eyebrow. "Want to find out?"

"You sure know how to ask the hard questions don't you?" She laughs humorlessly.

She debates putting herself in this kind of situation or never finding her answers.

She gets in the car.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: **So here's a plot hole I noticed. Why did Derek think Deaton was the Alpha when later Scott and Derek are able to sniff out other werewolves? I attempt an explanation.

First chapter where I use quotes from the show.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four: It's a Trap<strong>

"Let's pretend I have no clue what's happening right now," she tells Derek, her eyes and body turned to the backseat as she watches the man breathe with morbid fascination "and explain to me why you think he's the Alpha."

"He's hiding things," Derek grits out, eyes periodically at the rearview mirror to check on the man as well. "I caught him lying about my sister."

She winces, really wishing she could drop it but she's going to need more than that. "And…" she trails off leadingly. He looks mulish.

"Can you, uh, distinguish other werewolves?" She asks tentatively, turning sideways so her back is to the passenger door instead of the windshield.

His jaw tightens. "There are ways to hide your scent."

She sniffs, cataloging Derek's scent and her own so she can find the unfamiliar. He smells clean, like disinfectant. Even his sweat and blood are buried underneath it. It's weird.

Derek catches her puzzlement with a sidelong glance. "Which you'll notice. Unscented bacterial soap, detergents, charcoal, baking soda," he lists.

"Charcoal?" She inhales again, trying to absorb the nullifying scent. It's difficult, at least for her.

"Either he's a werewolf or he's familiar with them." He explains, picking up a little more speed as she balances one hand on the dash and the other around the headrest. "Which means he's the Alpha or he's in league with them."

She nods slowly. "And if he was going to start turning people, it makes sense he would start with Scott. But what I don't understand is why now? He's not new here, right? So why did he just start killing people?"

"He needed to kill my sister," he replies roughly "after he lured her here, which made him an Alpha."

She gnaws on her lip, less sympathetic to the yet-to-be-convicted man and more distrustful.

"And where are we taking him?" She flops down in her seat, determined to face forward.

"Scott wants us to meet him at the school."

"Wait," she goggles at him, face twisting in outrage. "He knows about me?"

"He's about to," he shrugs, completely nonplussed.

"But I don't- I can't…"her mouth keeps opening and closing but no sound comes out. Derek raises his eyebrows in that 'I have no idea why you're being emotional' way.

"I-"she shakes her head violently, throwing him an irked look. "Don't you know the more people who know your secret, the less likely it will stay a secret?! Isn't that why you told me about Allison, so I wouldn't tell Scott?"

"I told you about Allison so you wouldn't make the same mistake."

"What if he tells her," she steamrolls right over him "and she tells her gun toting dad?" Her mind starts spinning. "Do you know mountain lions are endangered? And statistically there's only one human fatality in the U.S. and Canada in a whole year? God, he probably, and he had a gun at a _school_, and… this entire town is full of brain dead morons thinking a mountain lion was killing people!"

The only thing that starves her panicking rant is the stab of pain that goes through her hands. Her claws retract after she focuses, the skin already healing from where she pierced herself. She grimaces as she wipes the blood on her jeans.

"I can take you back home," Derek looks over at her, his aggressiveness gone as he notices the injury. It isn't the first time she accidentally mutilated herself to bring herself back to focus. So far it was the only thing close to working.

"No," she decides with an enervating sigh "I was kidding myself anyway. But I swear to God if the Argents find out about me I'm going to _murder_ Scott."

Once they pass the mile of complete isolation they pull up to the school. It's strange to see it at night, eerie almost, forbidden. She tries to push away feelings of anxiety as they turn into the parking lot, but that hope is dashed when she spots a familiar Jeep.

Her heart thuds.

"Maybe I'll stay in the car," she hastily slides down the leather seat.

Derek gives her that patented look again before swiftly abandoning her.

Slumped with the seat belt digging in her neck, and the sounds of the tied up man in the back breathing in her ears she cautiously peeks out of the windshield, and accidentally catches Stiles' eyes. She freezes as his eyes widen in surprise, her vision tunneled on his face as she watches surprise turn into confusion, and then too quickly for her to prepare herself comes the realization.

His eyes close, his shoulders drop as he shows his hands into his jeans. Her chest aches. This is what it feels like to have someone know your secret, someone who isn't a werewolf.

Reluctantly, she gets out of the car.

"In the back," Derek answers, angling his head as Scott follows the direction.

Scott's eyes find her, and he looks confused by her presence, eyes going to Derek for an explanation. Even with the power of suggestion she doesn't feel a sixth sense that tells her he's a werewolf. He looks like a normal guy, though he could probably use a haircut.

She approaches hesitantly, fists clenched at her sides and biting the inside of her cheek as Stiles refuses to look at her. He nudges Scott, and a silent exchange happens between them before Scott turns back to her.

"You're Tessa Patterson right?" He asks slowly. "The girl that was attacked with Lydia and Jackson?"

Her mouth tightens. "Oh, I wouldn't call that the attack, more like the warm-up," she says without eye contact, blinking quickly.

From the corner of her eye she can see Stiles look at her side, the place where she was bit before his head drops back down again.

Derek sighs. "What's the plan Scott?"

Scott shakes his head, turning his eyes back to Derek though his body is still aligned toward her. "You said I was linked to the Alpha. I'm gonna see if you're right."

He nods to Stiles before pausing, shuffling his feet as he opens his mouth to say something to her. She raises an eyebrow.

"You can come with us if you want," he offers, eyes darting to Derek before focusing on her. She shakes her head slowly and he nods with understanding, grabbing Stiles shoulder and steering him toward the school.

She wants to ask Derek what's going on, but she's waiting until the other two boys are out of earshot to speak. Unfortunately, it allows her to hear them.

"I'm sorry, again - I shouldn't have turned off my phone." Scott tells Stiles in an undertone.

Stiles releases a worn sigh. "Don't worry about it," he mumbles "it would have been too late anyways."

She swallows, closing her eyes tightly until they're inside the school.

"So," she clears her throat, rubbing her hands together as she attempts distraction "if he's the Alpha, what's the plan?"

Derek looks at her, arms crossed as he leans against Stiles' Jeep.

"I'm guessing you're not making a citizen's arrest," she comments wryly.

"I'm going to need you and Scott to take him down," he tells her calmly.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Is that even possible?"

"It'll be difficult," he says slowly, like he's unsure about their odds "but numbers will help."

She feels crushed, a little, realizing this is why he offered to help her. But hadn't she assumed he had a vendetta against the Alpha even before she found out about his sister? Rationally it makes sense to take advantage of Scott and her. Quid pro quo.

"Ok," she shakes her head. "But I'm not a fighter, and I doubt Scott is much of one either."

"All you need to do is distract him so I can take my shot."

"Oh that's all," she drawls sarcastically. "Why does it have to be a fight? Is that a werewolf thing? I mean can't we just poison him or something, then give him the antidote if he checks out? Or give him something that will only harm a werewolf?" She insists.

He opens his mouth to retort, when they're interrupted by…a meow? Whatever it is, is being broadcasted across the school grounds.

She gives the school a weird look as Derek's head hits the Jeep. "You have got to be kidding me," he deadpans.

"Wait, that was…is that what I'll sound like?" She makes a face.

There's a low rumbling that starts to compress the air. She rocks back on her heels as it rises into a thundering growl. Logically she knows its Scott, but something primal inside of her is attracted to the noise, wants to follow it. It's like hearing a loved one call for help, she _needs_ to follow it.

She blinks, and on reflex digs her claws into her thighs to keep her anchored. When it stops her body sags.

"Or will I sound like that," she shakes herself out of her daze, turning toward Derek only to find him missing.

There's a thud behind her and she turns, sees Derek holding up Scott's boss against the open passenger side, caught in the middle of escaping.

Derek inhales deeply, searching the scared man's face for something before dropping him back to the ground.

"So you're not the Alpha," he says, eyes scanning the woods. It was now unnervingly quiet. Even the forest had been silenced.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he insists quickly, heart picking up speed as he too scans the woods. When he catches her over Derek's shoulder he stops for just a second, and she feels the urge to duck out of sight.

"Stop lying," Derek snarls. "Who is he?" He grabs the thinner man by the collar and throws him back against the car.

"I don't-"he tries again.

Derek turns back to her, "Go inside and get Scott," he instructs.

The man takes advantage of his distraction and quickly throws himself sideways. She takes a hurried step forward in alarm as Derek reaches out to pull the man back. The next motion confuses her, the man grapples for something in his pocket before quickly throwing something into the air.

"Watch out," she warns quickly, thinking the grey powder is some type of poison as it falls into a perfect circle around the man.

Derek's arm is thrown back, a blue light shining as he hits an invisible barrier and curses. Her mouth drops open in complete disbelief. Supernatural creatures she can accept, but this is...magic?

"Its mountain ash," Derek informs her, just as Scott and Stiles practically skip out of the school, both looking exuberant. Their faces fall as they take in the scene.

"What are you its emissary?" Derek interrogates the man.

"Dr. Deaton," Scott calls out worriedly, quickening his pace "are you okay?"

"Scott," Stiles cautions, flattening his palm against Scott's chest to keep him away from the group "maybe you should step back."

"Hello Scott," the man greets calmly, a complete one-eighty from the frightened victim earlier. "I would caution you to leave now that you're alerted the Alpha to this location."

"Not to mention the whole state," Derek bites out with a seething glare to the two boys.

"You knew?" Scott's asks in a confused sort of betrayal.

A foreboding unease trickles down her spine, and she tenses.

"Shut up," Derek cautions in a distracted voice. Scott starts looking around as she slides up to Derek. The air feels oppressive and strangely still.

Stiles is the only one who doesn't sense it. "What's with the circle?" He asks curiously.

It's right next to her in a blink of an eye, taller than any man, its fur a dark grey-black that makes it blur around the edges, its eye bright red, and white teeth pulled into a vicious smile. Mid-gasp it stabs Derek by its claws and lifts him into the air like a twisted marionette. (Vaguely she hears Scott's boss tell him to run.)

Her knees weaken as she stumbles backward in shock, a strangled "Derek!" releasing from her throat as he starts to choke on his own blood.

The monster turns its head, eerily human as it grins awfully at her.

That's when her vision starts to blacken as her ears ring. It's not like losing control while phasing, it feels like she's going to pass out. And she_ cannot let that happen. _

Derek's eyes are half-closed in pain, blood staining his chin and leaking out of his mouth as he hangs there, completely helpless. She pivots forward, more of a stumble than a run as she stabs her claws into the Alpha's fur, right in the armpit. The phase has never been so easy for her.

The skin is rough and meaty as she pulls her elbow back and stabs harder. He snarls, more pissed than wounded as he flings Derek like a ragdoll, and then his blood soaked claws are swiping at her with as much effort as batting a fly. She soars back, smashing into Derek's hood and tumbling on the other side as her knees slam into the asphalt.

She slumps, head dizzy with pain as she hears Stiles and Scott running towards the school while the Alpha gives chase. The doors slam shut and then the air vibrates with a menacing growl.

She shakes her head woodenly, still jarred from her rough landing. Knowing the Alpha is still intent on finding its way into the school she starts to hobble around the car, leaving bloody prints on the hood as she scans for Derek's form, completely ignoring the man standing in the mountain ash circle.

She _needs_ the keys.

She wobbles, clutching her burning stomach where the Alpha's claws pricked her and trying to keep her legs straight.

The black leather jacket stands out, even half buried in the dead leaves as she tries to run to the slumped figure. His eyes are open and sightless, and she prays she can hear his heartbeat and it's not the echo of her own. Her fingers fumble around his neck, searching for a pulse while she scans the area for the Alpha.

It's standing over Deaton, sniffing at the mountain ash as it circles Deaton's still form. Instead of testing the barrier or leaving his prey, he yanks the front of Derek's car before whirling the back end like a discus throw and thrusting it through the barrier. She can hear a snap of bones as Deaton is thrown out of the circle, and then the Alpha makes a wheezy noise that chills her.

It sounds like its laughing.

The heavy doors start to open and a whine of alarm slips out of her throat when Stiles slips through the small space. She wants to scream at him to go back inside but speech has abandoned her.

"Tessa," she can hear him call out in a whisper, his eyes on the parking lot. "Tessa," he calls out shakily.

She watches wordlessly as the Alpha circles from around the Jeep, now on all fours as it pads into Stiles' line of sight. Stiles makes a run for the bright bolt cutters before scrambling back towards the entrance, the Alpha snarling after him.

The heavy doors close again.

It doesn't even turn in her direction, though she knows it must hear her racing heart, be able to smell her fear. Instead there's a sound of scratching metal before it bounds away. As quickly as she's able she grabs Derek under his armpits and starts dragging him the thirty feet back to his relocated car.

Lucky for her the passenger door is still open as she hastens her pace. She can't worry about the noise of Derek's clothes scraping against the pavement when she's worried she's doing irreparable damage to his wounds.

She doesn't look behind the car to the fallen figure. Her heart is pounding too fast to hear his, and his scent is too weak. She's all instinct now, and even is she knew he was alive she's not sure she would do the same for him as she is with Derek.

She stumbles backward into the opening of the car, pulling Derek's weight across her thighs and to her chest until she can clasp her hands around his torso. Her hands are slick with blood as she continues to haul him across the center console and into the driver's seat. Once he's all the way in she slumps, her head thudding against the window as she pants for breath. Her mind is spinning as she tries to speed up her recovery, to quickly slide out from under his dead weight, cringing as she collapses on top of him before she can push herself off. Her whole front is slick with her blood and his and she's really hoping Derek doesn't have some kind of blood transferable disease.

Outside the car, it's silent. She starts patting at his pockets, first jacket and then jeans. When she finds the keys she hesitates, cursing as she starts to pull up his shirt until she can see his stomach.

We'll heal, he had told her. But what happens if he doesn't? If he needs a hospital? What is she supposed to _do?_

The claws didn't make it all of the way through and she sighs with relief. She's now determined to learn everything she can about werewolf medicine, or any medicine.

The keys are still in her hands as she starts unzipping her hoodie for a makeshift tourniquet.

There's a snuffling noise outside and she freezes, slowly turning her eyes to the still open doorway.

It's there, hot breath fanning her face as it slides its massive head into the car, eyes like blood, and razor sharp teeth shining with droll. Her knees tighten around Derek's thigh as she tries to stay grounded. She cannot close her eyes in defeat. She cannot allow herself to collapse.

The keys start to cut into her fist before she carefully rearranges them in her hands, swallowing tightly as she holds the shiny metal between her fingers and stabs forward.

It anticipates her, jerking its head back before she even comes close to its eye and jolting the car. The momentum unbalances her as she falls against Derek's prone calves, trying to scramble backward as the Alpha roars in her face.

The sound vibrates in her ears, a wave crashing on top of her and swallowing her whole.

She tries to fight the feeling, but she can't. It's like a noose around her neck, a leash biting into her skin. Thick, heavy, Jacob Marley chains prisoning her mind.

She doesn't start thinking rationally again until she's thrown into a wall.

Her vision is tunneled on Scott's inhuman face, growling her name warningly as he stands over her.

She starts gasping, shivering as her body breaks out into sweat as she fights through the cloud of rage connecting her to the monster. Sticky blood trickles down her neck as her claws bury themselves into her scalp.

She whines lowly, the yellow fading from her eyes as she slackens against the cool tile.

"God, what happened to her?" Stiles pushes past Scott to crouch at her side.

"I don't know," Scott phases back, posture still wary.

"Wha-" She asks woozily, head spinning as Stiles helps her sit up.

"Hey, hey, I've got you," he says gently, hands hovering at her shoulders as she sluggishly pulls her right leg up to rest her head.

"I thought you were dead," he mumbles past frozen lips.

"Yeah me too," she admits quietly.

"Scott," he says, still watching her "does this have anything to do with that headache you got in the locker room? I mean, is that possible?" He turns to him "You're part of the same pack right? So if he hurts her…" he trails off.

"I don't know, I-" Scott scans the hallway, running his hand through his shaggy hair as he spares her looks of concern. Her brain feels fuzzy, her tongue thick in her cottony mouth.

"Can I apologize?" She peeks up at Stiles' expression. "About…" she licks her lips nervously "what I said the other day-"

"God, are you kidding?" He shakes his head rapidly. "Forgotten."

Her lips quirk, keeping her heavy eyes on his face. "Do I look that bad?"

"Welll," he elongates, trying to keep his tone light, though his face says it all "how do you define bad, exactly?"

"Your lying skills," she smirks ruefully.

"I'll have you know-" he scoffs, the beginnings of a smile on his pale lips.

"Do you hear that?" Scott interrupts, listening intently as a phone starts ringing. Stiles shakes his head but she tenses. "I know that ringtone," he says with dawning horror "that's…that's Allison. I, Stiles give me your phone."

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Stiles quickly hands it over.

"Are you sure it's not a trick?" She wonders anxiously, sitting up straighter with a grimace "to draw us out?"

"We're already drawn out," Stiles observes grimly.

Scott paces anxiously as he dials Allison's number and waits. She can hear the ringing start up again, somewhere far down the hallway.

"She's here," she tells Stiles with certainty just as Allison picks up the phone.

She places her palm flat against the floor to push off, Stiles quickly grasping her elbow as she threatens to slip back to the floor. Her hands are layered in the Alpha's, Derek's, and now her own blood as she rises. Glass tinkles off her clothes, and the blood is starting to dry like rusted flakes of paint.

Stiles inhales sharply. "Your stomach," he bites his lip. She doesn't look.

"Here," he says quickly, striping off his button down and wrapping it around her shoulders.

"I don't want to get it-"she starts to protest as Scott says "Get to the Lobby. Now," and hangs up the phone.

"Can you run?" Scott asks her hurriedly.

"Not much of a choice," she grimaces, motioning him to lead the way as they start sprinting down the hallway. It burns, but anything is better than going back to that numb state the Alpha put her in.

It's not far that they run into Allison, standing alone next to the trophies as Tessa keeps her distance and puts her arms through Stiles' sleeves.

She tries to drown out the conversation as Scott hounds Allison, listening for movement outside of the group when the doors to the left open and Lydia and Jackson leisurely walk through.

She almost laughs, this is just, just too much.

A noise in the ceiling makes her look up. _Something _is in the vents causing the ceiling squares to buckle under its weight.

"Run!" Scott yells out, pushing everyone to the right as a heavy weight drops from the ceiling. She finds herself in the rear as the Alpha hurtles after them. There's something in the back of her mind, not quite a formed thought, which wants to dart away from the group. But if the Alpha changed its mind, decides to follow her because she's injured, because she rebelled against him, or just because she was alone, then she'd be screwed.

They push through the cafeteria doors, and not a second after she's pass them does Scott slam the doors shut and start locking them at the top and bottom.

Past the smell of blood is the overwhelming anxiety that perfumes the air as everyone tries to collect their breath.

"Help me get this is front of the door," Scott orders, as Jackson and him push the refrigerator unit against the entrance.

That one motion makes it clear to her Scott is intent on keeping the supernatural a secret, otherwise he would have moved the vending machines instead.

"Scott, wait, not here." Stiles calls out.

Lydia and she make eye contact, and the redhead narrows her eyes into a glare before her face smoothes out into something more aloof. She remembers her after all, well, okay.

"What was that? Scott, what was that?" Allison panics.

"Will you just help me?" He avoids eye contact, still moving in a frenzy as Jackson and he find more things to barricade the door. "The chairs, stack the chairs," he pleads towards her and Lydia. They both nod unevenly before hauling stacks of chairs towards the door while Jackson and Scott stack them up.

Tessa doesn't move to help. It's like shaving your legs before swimming, will it help, yes, but to such a minimal degree it wouldn't be worth it.

"Guys," Stiles calls anxiously, body jittering as his eyes catch hers and search the group. She's the only one who seems to be listening. "Guys – Can we just wait a second? You guys, listen to me, w- Can we wait a second? Guys? Stiles talking. Can we hang on one second, please?" His voice starts to rise as the chairs threaten to drown him out. "Hello! Okay, nice work. Really beautiful job, everyone. Now – what should we do about the 20 foot wall of windows?" He gestures sarcastically.

She can't help it, she snorts.

Stiles blinks at her quickly, arms dropping to his side.

"Sorry," she bites her lip, "gallows humor."

"Oh my god," Allison quickly approaches her, wide eyes set on the parts of her torso that are visible between her forearms "you're bleeding. Here, sit down," she directs her with shaking hands, breaths still quivering in her chest.

"It's only a flesh wound," she tries to downplay, a little unease as Allison maneuvers her to sit on the nearest table.

"Maybe she's reenacting something," Lydia drawls snidely, one of her hands going to her hip as she tosses her hair. "What's that one about the repressed social pariah being drenched in blood?" She wonders aloud, sharp eyes cutting. So she heard her comment outside of the video store, or Jackson told her about it.

She would say touché and leave it at that, but apparently she's not very good at being the bigger person.

"Is that the one where the popular bitch gets her comeuppance?" She shoots right back.

"Not the time you guys," Allison mumbles under her breath as she pulls up the tattered parts of her shirt aside and exposes the shallow wound. It's a grizzly looking thing, three long slashes from her right hip to her left set of ribs, and most worrying it doesn't look to be healing.

"What did this?" Allison breathes unsteadily as everyone cautiously steps closer to stare. She shuts her eyes to avoid seeing their expressions.

"Can somebody please explain to me what's going on, because I'm freaking out here. And I would like to know why." Allison pleads, her eyes searching Scott's face. He pulls away from her outstretched hand, moving to face the barricaded door. "Scott?" Allison tries. "Scott?"

He doesn't turn around and he doesn't answer.

"It looks like the marks on Stilinski's Jeep," Jackson observes absently, still staring.

Lydia's eyes are closed tightly, lips thinned as she refuses to look.

"None of you saw it, did you?" She asks them. They share glances, but when they look back at her it's with incomprehension and a need for answers. She turns to Jackson "you didn't recognize it?"

His breath stutters but after a short pause he shakes his head. She doesn't believe him, but she doesn't believe he's 'in the know' either.

She turns to Allison. "And you have _no_ idea?" She asks skeptically, remembering what Derek said about the Argents.

Allison also shakes her head, eyes still shiny with tears.

"What do you know that we don't?" Allison asks for them.

Tessa looks to Scott, not sure what to say. Even though it's a matter of survival she's still hesitant.

Stiles sighs, scrubbing his scalp as he takes a step closer. "Somebody killed the janitor," his voice cracks slightly, face grave.

"What?" Lydia and she voice together, both incredulous. They share an annoyed look before swiftly ignoring each other.

"Yeah, the janitor's dead," Stiles scratches at his forehead with a pained grimace.

For a terrifying moment she looks back down at the blood coating her body, and takes a deep inhale. "And it was-?" She asks Stiles with wide eyes, he minutely nods his head.

"God," she breaths, relieved beyond measure. How is it her life to have to wonder if she murdered someone?

"What are you talking about? Is this a joke?" Allison crosses her arms tightly, beseeching eyes going back to Scott's turned back.

"What? Who killed him?" Jackson asks Stiles.

Lydia starts shaking her head, tears filling her eyes. "No, no, no, no. This was supposed to be over. The mountain lion killed-"

"No, don't you get it? There wasn't a mountain lion." Jackson interrupts impatiently, his eyes watching the three of them in suspicion, mostly centered on the guilt ridden teen who keeps avoiding eye contact.

"Who was it? What does he want? What's happening?" Allison turns pained eyes to Scott. "Scott!"

"I- I don't know. I – I just – if – if we go out there, he's gonna kill us," Scott finally turns around in distress.

"Why would – whoever – want to kill us?" Lydia raises her voice.

Scott's whole face is twisted with stress, unable to speak as he cringes into himself.

"Welll, we know it's not Scott's boss," she answers Lydia drolly, shoulders hunched as she keeps her forearms against her stomach.

Scott's eyes widen. "Is he-?" He asks anxiously.

She ducks her head, not able to answer either way. It's not like she checked.

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Allison bites out, looking between her and Scott as she shoves her fists into her jacket pockets.

"Oh, you haven't seen this one? Scream, Halloween, I Know What You Did Last Summer…" she starts ticking them off her fingers.

"Horror movies," Allison breathes, drawing her jacket tighter. "But, I - what's the motive? We haven't done anything," she insists.

"There wasn't really a motive in Scream," Stiles shifts on his feet.

Tessa points her finger at him, the way her father does when he says, 'well you've got a point there'. It's comically inappropriate.

Scott's face twists, "Look its Derek…" he starts.

"He should be okay," she interrupts, "I think."

Scott's mouth opens before he nods stiffly, closing his eyes and tilting his head back.

"Wait," Jackson's eyebrows draw together "Derek? He's here too?"

She makes eye contact with Stiles before nodding slowly. "He was attacked first, in the parking lot."

Jackson gives her a dubious look. "The parking lot was empty, other than Stilinski's piece of crap Jeep."

"What?" She blurts out, sitting up quickly.

"Of course," Stiles mutters under his breath.

"No one else was there," Jackson shakes his head.

"No one?" She repeats, thinking about Deaton too. Scott holds his breath as Jackson rolls his eyes.

"That's what I said."

She stares blankly. Did Derek leave? Take Deaton with him? Did the Alpha do something with them? Did Deaton take Derek? Did someone else pick them both up that she didn't know about?

She has no answers, just a feeling of betrayal twisting her gut. After what she did for Derek, if he left her…

"You mean to say," Allison starts off slowly "that someone attacked Derek, left him in the parking lot, chased you," she points to Scott, Stiles, and her, "inside, killed the janitor, I-" she looks down at Tessa's torso "attacked you…" she voices uneasily "and lured us here?"

"Don't forget Derek leaving us for dead," Stiles mumbles under his breath.

"More or less," Tessa is left to answer her, sparing a look at Scott's guilty countenance.

"Why?" Allison asks impatiently.

"Is it the same person who killed all of those people?" Jackson stares at her intently.

"The mountain lion-"Lydia whispers quietly. The blank expression on her face reminding Tessa of last Friday. She's starting to realize people didn't have a right to be traumatized because they saw more. She saw more tonight than she did in that video store, but that didn't lessen what happened. She was such a bitch.

"Yes," Scott answers firmly, to Jackson not to Lydia "and we're next."

"Who is it?" Allison demands.

"We don't know." Scott sighs, running his hand through his hair anxiously as he avoids looking at her.

There's a beat where no one says anything.

"Call the cops," Jackson declares.

Stiles doesn't move, doesn't raise his voice as he says "No," very simply.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Jackson sneers at him.

His eyes narrow. "I mean no. You wanna hear it in Spanish? _Noh_," he clicks his tongue sarcastically. "We don't know what he's armed with."

"Your dad is armed with an entire sheriff's department." Jackson scoffs. "Call him."

"We_,"_ Allison empathizes, pointing at Jackson, Lydia, and her "don't even know _who _he is," she stares Stiles down determinedly.

"I'm calling," Lydia whips her phone out of her handbag.

"No, Lydia, would you just hold on a sec-"Stiles tries to intersect her as Jackson pushes him back roughly. She starts to rise from the table.

"Hey," Scott gets between the two, holding Stiles back as he gives him a look of apology.

"I think this is more of a Marital, Marshall…law…thing," she squints, trying to find the right word. "You know that thing where you don't involve the police?"

"That would be suicide," Lydia rolls her eyes at her, perking up when the call goes through.

"_911. What is your emergency?"_

"Yes, we're at Beacon Hills High School. We're trapped, and we need you to-"

"_Ma'am, I would suggest not wasting police time. We've already received a tip about a prank call concerning the high school-"_

"But-"

"_If you call again, be assured I'll have the call traced as a warrant goes out for your arrest. Good night." _Click.

"She hung up on me," Lydia stared at her phone incredulously.

Tessa swallows, looking over at Scott to see if he heard what the police said. They both realize how in over their heads they are.

She really should have told Derek no. Turned back when he offered, drove off in the limited window that she had.

Lydia explains what happened.

"Okay, then call again," Allison nods resolutely.

"No," Stiles murmurs quietly. "They won't trace a cell and they'll send a car to your house before the send anyone here."

"Okay," Allison blinks the moisture out of her eyes. "This time, when I ask I want a real answer, no avoidance got it?" She gives Stiles, Scott, and her a steely eyed look. "_Who_ is it?"

Stiles holds still while Scott lowers his head.

"I don't know," Tessa resigns herself, drawing everyone's eye. "They don't know either, _seriously,_ but…you've seen the wound, what do you think it is?"

Jackson's eyes alight as he leans forward while Scott starts shaking his head slowly at her.

"What does the weapon have anything to do with the person?" Allison asks uneasily.

She rolls her eyes, flopping back to the table roughly as she gives Scott an imploring look. _Your girlfriend, your problem,_ she tries to communicate.

"Maybe we should just take a break," Stiles broaches "you know gather our thoughts, think of a way to get out of here, pray…" he trails off, dragging Scott further away as he motions her to follow with his eyes.

She shrugs at the other three as she quickly follows.

"Well this is going…well," Stiles grimaces once they're huddled together.

"She definitely won't be suspicious now," Scott peeks over his shoulder before quickly looking away.

"Since you brought it up why are you dating her?" She whispers. "Didn't you read Romeo and Juliet?"

"Derek told you?" He asks. She can't describe his expression other that girlish betrayal, like Derek was gossiping behind his back.

"To avoid Allison during my time of the month?" She rolls her eyes sarcastically "yeah."

"Gross," Stiles shakes his head. He looks up with narrowed eyes "And what's up with you hanging out with Derek anyway? He's like the dark side of the force."

"I didn't know any Jedi's," she mocks him.

Scott gives her weird look. "Star Wars?" He asks, like he wasn't really sure.

"Please," she lifts her eyebrows "everyone's seen Star Wars."

Stiles waves his finger at her, directing Scott an exasperated look, "exactly."

"Okay," Scott takes a calming breath. "Are we going to talk about how we're going to get out of here? Or why he hasn't tried to kill us yet?"

"You call this not trying to kill us?" Stiles whispers incredulously.

"Okay assheads," Jackson calls out.

She shhs him, throwing a quelling look over Scott's shoulder that makes him grumble.

She turns back to the little brain trust, catching the smile on Stile's face.

"Allison was right though," she looks at them seriously "what's the motive here?"

"Derek said it wants revenge," Scott frowns.

"No," she corrects _"Derek_ wants revenge."

Scott shakes his head, "That too I guess, but he said the spiral meant the Alpha wants revenge."

She blinks. Spiral? "What the hell are you talking about?"

Jackson starts stomping towards them with a glare, Lydia and Allison behind his left shoulder.

"How about," he drawls "you stop whispering to yourselves, and Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. Are we good with that?"

As if the words are their death sentence the doors start shaking. The Alpha was back.

They all stare at the buckling door, the screws coming loose as the refrigerator scrapes backwards against the floor. The metal in the chairs were vibrating at each shove.

"The kitchen," Stiles says in a distracted voice, eyes glued to the door "the door out of the kitchen leads to the stairwell."

They all start moving backwards quickly.

"But- but it only goes up," Scott argues, even as he makes sure Allison is in front of him as they run.

"Up is better than here," Stiles points out ominously.

"I don't-"she starts to say, just as the doors in the other room crash open. She closes her mouth quickly.

Hazy adrenaline was pumping through her blood as she climbed the stairs, her stomach burning as she clutched it. Stiles grabbed her arm at the second landing, pulling her out of the stairwell as Lydia sprinted into the classroom on the left and everyone followed.

This time Jackson locks the door as they all try to catch their breath as quietly as possible.

"Maybe you should call your dad," Scott whispers raggedly, conflicted brown eyes meeting Stiles.

"No, no way," he shakes his head.

"Then give me the phone," Jackson commands still keeping his voice low as he makes a grab for Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles swings with the motion, arm coming out to punch Jackson in the face. He staggers.

Her eyes almost pop out of her head, as Lydia shhs them loudly.

"Jackson," Allison crouches down quickly to where he's laid out on the floor, shooting a glare at Stiles.  
>"Are you okay? Hey, are you okay?" She softly puts her hand on his arm.<p>

He sends her a small smile, hand held up to his nose as he uses her to help himself up, head at her shoulder and an arm at her waist. He flashes a dark smirk at Stiles, hidden by Allison's hair.

Sleaze.

"What about this?" Scott asks the group, gesturing to the door next to the teacher's desk "This leads to the roof. We can go down the fire escape to the parking lot, in, like, seconds."

"That's a deadbolt," Stiles shakes his head.

Scott slumps for a moment before looking up hopefully. "The janitor has a key."

Stiles walks closer, slowly so the others won't hear. "You mean his body has it."

"I can get it," Scott shakes his head, lowering his voice as she steps up to Stiles' shoulder. "I can find him by scent, by blood."

"Well, gee," Stiles throws his arms up "that sounds like an incredibly terrible idea. What else you got?"

She gnaws on her lip. "How much force would it take to break a deadbolt?" She directs at Stiles, wondering if werewolf strength could overcome it. Of course, Lydia, Jackson, and Allison would have to block their ears and promise to look the other way.

"Unless you have a battering-ram, not enough," Stiles runs a hand roughly across his scalp.

"I'm getting the key," Scott proclaims, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Are you serious?" Allison hisses from across the room.

"Scott, in the parking lot, he did something, it- I can't explain it, but the only thing that brought me back was clawing at myself," she admits lowly, turning her head to the side and pulling up her hair so he can see the blood in her hair and down her neck. "You saw me, I was-"

"Mad," Stiles finishes, bouncing on his feet as he stares beguiling at Scott. "Scott, you were effected and you weren't even there."

"But…it wasn't that bad," Scott whispers uncertainly.

"Wait 'til you get the full effect," she mumbles darkly, crossing her arms tightly as she stares him down.

His voice rises in frustration. "Well how are we supposed to get out of here?"

Stiles and her share a helpless look, wondering if the other had thought of something.

"We are in a chemistry classroom," Lydia mumbles thoughtfully.

The trio turn to her, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

"I think we'll need more than acid to corrode the door," Stiles voices carefully.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "No," she says patronizingly, sparing a look to the nearest cabinets. Her eyes light up with an idea. "But thermite could work."

"Termites only eat wood," Jackson gives her an unimpressed look.

"Thermite," she repeats slowly "it's used to weld hot metals together. Essentially it's an aluminum and iron oxide bomb."

Their mouths drop open.

"What?" She asks self-consciously, "I read it somewhere," she shrugs to Jackson.

"We might not have the time," Scott announces heavily. "I should-"

"No," Allison protests tearfully "you're not going out there. We could- we could," her eyes dart around the room "I- what if we pull the fire alarm? That might scare him off and the police will come right?"

"They'll only dispatch one officer," Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Then call your dad," she pleads with him.

Scott looks at Stiles extremely conflicted, "we still need a distraction right now," he insists, reaching out to hold Allison's hands.

"Maybe we should call your dad," Tessa admits reluctantly. Stiles turns his head quickly but she's looking at Allison, who blinks back in bewilderment.

"Well sitting around isn't going to get anything done," Lydia motions Jackson snippily to the cabinet.

He rolls his eyes but agreeably turns and shatters the glass with his elbow.

"There should be duct tape in Mr. Harris' desk," she tells him as she searches for the right ingredients. "And I'll need goggles and gloves."

While Jackson and Lydia gather everything, the other four step to the side.

"What do you mean call my dad?" Allison asks in confusion. Tessa looks at Scott, tries to tell him non-verbally it's what needs to be done. Better than him going out alone, having what happened to her happen to him. Or worse, happening to both of them.

"Call him and find out," she sighs heavily.

"Tessa," Stiles whispers softly.

"We'll be okay," she looks up at him with bright eyes, trying to blink the moisture away, "we'll figure it out, but…" she bites the inside of her mouth, eyes falling to his throat as she admits the next part quietly "everyone has a better chance this way. I rather create a problem for myself tomorrow if it means we can solve the one right now."

And with that she turns her head back to Allison. "Call your dad."

"Call your dad," Scott repeats her, eyes soft in acceptance as he nods encouragingly to his confused girlfriend. "Allison, he'll know what to do. Trust me."

When Allison pulls out her cell phone she has to look away.

"Lydia," Stiles calls out "how long do you think it will take?"

The redhead looks over questionably, "not long," she assures.

"Hey dad," Allison greets shakily.

Tessa's eyes clench for a long moment. When they open she notices Stiles is staring at the closed door in resignation, and Scott is nowhere to be found.


End file.
